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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28928334">Cross</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenForADay/pseuds/QueenForADay'>QueenForADay</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anal Sex, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Dirty Talk, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is So Done, Jaskier | Dandelion Being a Little Shit, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Overstimulation, POV Jaskier | Dandelion, Possessive Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Possessive Sex, Rough Sex, Shameless Smut, Spanking, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:36:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,135</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28928334</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenForADay/pseuds/QueenForADay</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Geralt has always had a short temper. Something that is often stoked by Jaskier’s inability to keep himself out of trouble. But, listen, this technically wasn’t his fault. </p><p>--</p><p>Geralt has had enough with Jaskier's libido getting him into trouble. So he better have Jaskier in his own bed instead; just to keep an eye on his little bird.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia &amp; Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>918</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>MaMooRoo BIKM Bingo</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Cross</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Geralt has always had a short temper. Something that is often stoked by Jaskier’s inability to keep himself out of trouble. But, listen, this <em>technically</em> wasn’t his fault. Lara – or was it Kara? – promised him that her house would be empty. Her brothers would still be at the tavern drinking away their earnings for the day, and that the house would be free for them to do whatever they wanted. And Shara definitely had plans, if what she lilted against the shell of Jaskier’s ear on their way to her house was any indication.</p><p>But her brothers just had to stumble home early, and Jaskier can only thank every god he can remember the name of when they all seemed too mead-drunk to try and be quiet as soon as they fell in through the front door. A few crashes into furniture and drunken arguing among themselves lured Jaskier away from Clara’s lips and he made his escape. He’s been on the dangerous end of a sword or dagger one too many times. And he assumed that he had actually gotten quite good at escaping from chambers.</p><p>Apparently not. He doesn’t know how they managed to spot him, but all he knew was as soon as he heard the first bellowed <em>OI!</em>, he was sprinting out into the street.</p><p>Geralt was nearby. Geralt was enjoying himself and the peace that came to him when Jaskier wasn’t around when the bard stumbled into the inn they were staying at for the night; and fair, his hair might have been tellingly ruffled and his lips bitten and soft, and his boots are <em>definitely</em> on the wrong feet, but Jaskier’s life is being threatened again and Geralt just about managed not to roll his eyes to the back of his head when the inn door slammed open, and some drunken enraged brothers stumbled in.</p><p>He can’t really remember how he ended up here. There was noise; he remembers shouting, mostly slurred, drunken words from the brothers and dangerously low rumbles from Geralt. If he strains his mind, he can possibly remember the innkeep getting involved, warning the brothers about calling the city guards and Geralt losing their room for the night.</p><p>Everything after that is a maelstrom of noise and sights, and he really can’t say how he ended up here, but he’s certainly not mad about it. If anything, he has to focus and hold himself together against Geralt’s rumbling voice, words and questions aimed at him and all Jaskier can do is swallow and nod.</p><p>He doesn’t <em>mean</em> to get himself into trouble. Honestly. Trouble just seems to follow him like a shadow, and Geralt has had enough. If Jaskier insists on tumbling into beds and wetting his cock to get through the day or night, then he might as well be in Geralt’s bed; where the Witcher can at least keep an eye on him.</p><p>Jaskier’s grip on the bedsheets tightens as he moans, feeling Geralt catch his hips and pull him into position. His knees and forearms almost sink into the plush mattress, and it shifts as the Witcher kneels behind him, pulling Jaskier back until the head of Geralt’s cock rests against his wet hole.</p><p>Fingers plied him apart and words dusted his ear. <em>No better than a whore. Can’t keep your cock to yourself, can you? If there is a next time, if you really can’t keep your trousers up for more than a night, I’m not going to help you out of it. </em>Golden eyes caught the dishevelled look of him, and Jaskier can only imagine what he must have looked like. Clothes that had been lured off of him are back on his body, but he can’t say that his shirt wasn’t buttoned up right at all, with the collar skewed, and the front rumpled and smelling faintly like perfume.</p><p>Geralt’s hands tighten on his hips. “Desperate little thing,” he growls. “If I give you what you want, will you finally behave?”</p><p><em>Gods alive</em>. If he can have this instead of fleeting romances and romps in beds, then <em>absolutely</em>. Jaskier groans against the sheets. Words spill out of his mouth at the first firm swat to his ass. “Yes!” he whines, turning his head and looking back at Geralt. The Witcher hasn’t matched him in state of undress. Jaskier lain bare and pliant and <em>good</em> underneath him while Geralt’s armour sits strewn nearby and the front of his breeches are open just enough to pull his cock out. Jaskier’s breath catches in his throat when he meets golden and glinted eyes. “Yes, I promise. I’ll behave. I’m sorry, Geralt.”</p><p>Geralt’s eyes don’t leave his when he fucks into Jaskier, holding the bard’s gaze as Jaskier squirms underneath him. Geralt is big, and Jaskier can feel himself parting for him, filling up already when Geralt is only halfway inside of him. The Witcher has his hips caught in a white-knuckled grip, keeping him still as he rolls his hips.</p><p>Jaskier’s moans thin with his breath, threatening to stick in his throat. It’s too much. Geralt stretched him just enough to take most of the sting away, making sure he was wet and open for him, but the small of his back tightens as he struggles not to bear down on the Witcher, opening his hips a bit more to let him in. Tears prickle Jaskier’s eyes. Each touch on him sparks his skin. He sets his forehead into the mattress, pressing down to muffle his sounds—</p><p>A gasp rips through his throat when familiar, wet fingers curl into his hair and pull him up, bending and bowing his back as Jaskier moans towards the ceiling. “Let me hear you,” Geralt grunts, rolling his hips and stilling them against the swell of Jaskier’s ass. He stays there for a moment, feeling Jaskier’s walls tremble around him as he struggles not to push and grind back against Geralt. The Witcher’s grip in his hair tightens. “Come on, little bird. You sing lovely songs to everyone else. Sing something for me.”</p><p>The noises that tumble out from Jaskier’s lips are beyond his control. Moans and groaned attempts at Geralt’s name, whines when the Witcher just <em>stays still</em> and doesn’t move an inch. His knuckles turn white as he knots his fingers into the sheets below him. “Please,” he groans, eyes rolling to the back of his head. “<em>Please</em>, Geralt, fuck me. I need it. I need <em>you</em>.”</p><p>His words choke off as Geralt starts to fuck him. Sure, firm thrusts that drive his cock against Jaskier’s prostate with every movement. Jaskier can’t gather his breath. It sticks in his throat and thins, and when he does manage to breathe out, it’s some attempt at Geralt’s name or a whine.</p><p>Geralt lets go of him, only to prowl over and brace his arms on either side of Jaskier’s head, keeping him pinned to the mattress. With his hips free, Jaskier musters just enough willpower to roll back against Geralt, meeting every thrust and stroking his prostate with every movement. His breath turns to whines, and Geralt growls next to his ear. “I might just have to lock that cock of yours away. A nice steel cage wrapped around your prick, and I’ll keep the key. Since you obviously can’t be trusted. I own it now, don’t I, little bird?”</p><p><em>Gods</em>. Jaskier moans, bowing his back and pushing his hips back against Geralt’s. “<em>Yes</em>, gods yes, I’m yours. I’m sorry, Geralt, <em>fuck</em>, <em>there</em>, I’ll be all yours-”</p><p>Jaskier’s lips are claimed, a hungry and deep kiss smothering his words and sounds. It’s another thing to curl in his core. He can feel his prick leaking, dropping beads of precum on to the bedding below him. Each snap of Geralt’s hips against his has his cock rubbing into the sheets, nearing him to the edge, but just shy of it. And he’s desperate. He needs to come <em>now</em>. He reaches one hand to Geralt’s wrist, curling his fingers around it and squeezing. When he parts their kiss, his lips tingling and bitten, he moans wetly against Geralt’s cheek. “I’m yours, I’m yours completely, darling. Please, claim me. Make everyone know who I belong to.”</p><p>Something glints in Geralt’s eye. “If I didn’t know any better, little bird,” he rumbles, teeth bared and threatening to nip at Jaskier’s skin, “I would think that you’re taking all of this as some sort of reward. You’re not, are you? Because you’ve been testing my patience for too long and I think you need some punishment.”</p><p>Jaskier’s words catch in his throat. He squeezes Geralt’s wrist. “Darling,” he groans, “<em>please</em>, I want to feel you. I’m yours. Just, <em>please</em>, I need to come. I need you to fill me up and claim me.”</p><p>The gold in Geralt’s eyes is lost to blown-out pupils. His hips roll and snap and roll again, luring Jaskier right to the edge of release and tugging him away again. It’s torture. The promise of release and the ripping of it from him. And he doesn’t even have to look at the Witcher to know that a smirk is curling along his lips. That he’s taking more pleasure in this, in knowing that he has Jaskier wholly under his control and can do whatever he likes. And he <em>really</em> can. Jaskier has no problems with this <em>at all</em>—</p><p>Geralt growls against his ear. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? No better than a city whore,” he rumbles against Jaskier’s ear. And if the bard tightens around him, then that’s all the confirmation that he needs. Geralt sets his lips and teeth to the shell of Jaskier’s ear. “You’ll stay in my bed from now on, do you understand? I can keep an eye on you, make sure that your cock can’t get you into any more trouble.”</p><p>It’s building again; the tension in his core. He bears down on every thrust Geralt gives him, letting his walls tremble around him as each snap of the Witcher’s hips batters his prostate and lures him closer and closer. It’s too much. Each press of his skin against Geralt has it set to fire and sparking. His eyes threaten to roll to the back of his head as he’s losing himself to each wave of pleasure lapping over him and threatening to drown.</p><p>Geralt doesn’t stray too far away, keeping his lips to Jaskier’s ear and murmuring words that have the bard’s grip on his wrist tightening. <em>You’re mine. My little lark, singing pretty songs just for me. You’ll be good for me, little thing, won’t you? I want to give you everything you want; but only if you’re good. Do you understand?</em></p><p>And he nods. Or he thinks he does. Words have stopped coming out of him, with only fucked out sharp and desperate noises slipping out through his open lips. Firm fingers card through his hair and drag him close. Geralt’s lips catch his and it’s just another sensation—</p><p>The kiss doesn’t last long, just a meeting of bitten lips. When the Witcher pulls away, all that’s left of him is blown-out eyes baring into Jaskier’s core. “Come for me, little thing,” he rumbles, “show me how good you can really be.”</p><p>It’s almost drowning, threatening to drag him under and suffocate him. When he comes, Geralt doesn’t stop moving, rubbing the head of his cock over Jaskier’s prostate again and again until the tremors won’t stop trembling through the bard, and his moans turn to whines. The sheets beneath him are streaked and soaked with release, and Geralt’s weight on top of him has his hips and spent cock grinding through it.</p><p>His grip on Geralt’s wrist tightens. Surely he’s leaving marks. Even if Witcher skin heals quicker than most, he would like some bruise to form. Some sort of claim back on the Witcher. One for one.</p><p>Geralt’s hips do slow after a moment, eventually resting against the swell of Jaskier’s ass and stilling. He’s still hard. Jaskier trembles around him, wanting to rock his hips back and lure what he can out of Geralt. He just wants to be <em>good</em>. The words manage to slip out of him, through numbed lips and out through a whine.</p><p>The Witcher hushes him, carding his fingers through his hair and whispering against his ear, making sure that Jaskier can hear every word.</p><p>“Good boy,” Geralt rumbles. “What a good little bird, so well behaved. I told you to come, and you did.”</p><p>Jaskier whines. He tries to move, but the sure weight of Geralt on top of him makes it difficult. The Witcher nips at the shell of his ear, making him pause. “Easy, little bird. We’re not done yet. You still have a whole night to get through.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Kudos &amp; Comments gladly appreciated!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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